


Synonymous

by aliciameade



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Dystopia, Equals, F/F, Future Fic, Heavy Angst, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:29:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6637330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciameade/pseuds/aliciameade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an emotionless utopia, two people fall in love when they regain their feelings from a mysterious disease, causing tensions between them and their society.</p><p>This is an AU based on the movie <i>Equals,</i> which is out on Blu-ray, etc. It will spoil the movie, so read at your own risk.</p><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RTN3HnQV3c">HERE</a> is the trailer to the movie, which will help set the tone for this.</p><p>Please note that there is discussion of suicide in this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synonymous

* * *

 

Emotion made humans unpredictable. Weak. Love made humans make mistakes. Think irrationally.

 

Science has successfully eradicated emotion from the human race following the near annihilation of the Earth’s population in The Great War. Anger. Deceit. Selfishness. It sent our planet into an Armageddon. Only ten percent of the world’s population survived the nuclear holocaust.

 

But science has prevailed. Those who survived pledged to never allow such events to occur again. The genes responsible for emotion were identified and, at the earliest stages of mitosis, immediately following conception, the genes were deactivated.

 

The problem was solved.

 

* * *

 

Chloe woke in her living quarters promptly at 7:00 am, as she did every day. Breakfast awaited her outside her door. She touched the sensor by the entrance to illuminate EAT and her dining pod extended from the wall as her sleeping pod retreated. While she ate she listened to the morning announcement from The Collective, detailing the ongoing outbreak of S.O.S., or Switched On Syndrome.

 

Its symptoms were serious. Increased sensitivity to light. Stressful thoughts. Erratic, unpredictable behavior. It was a reminder that physical contact and displays of emotion were a danger to society. It was a terminal disease, resulting almost infallibly in suicide. And if not, euthanasia. Once the disease progressed to a certain point, the individual would be committed to the Defective Neuropathy Facility, more commonly known as The DEN, for emotional suppression and a pain-free death. It was fatal at Stage Four.

 

She placed her breakfast tray in the cleaning vault and stepped into her shower, naught but a transparent box with a square in the ceiling from which water fell.

 

She touched the wall to open her closet and removed one of the eight white blouses and pairs of pants, dressing in silence.

 

She reported to work at ATMOS with the hundreds of others, scanning her left wrist at the entrance, the display on the scanning pillar pulling up her photograph, name, identification number, assigned living quarters, and occupation: Illustrator.

 

Her workstation was in the last row of the four-by-five layout.

 

“Good morning, Beca,” she said with a nod as she passed her coworker who was already working on her narration of her present project.

 

“Good morning, Chloe,” Beca said in response.

 

Once complete, Beca would transfer her narration to Chloe to be illustrated into an informational video for the world, detailing the recent history of society. Chloe picked up her stylus and activated her workstation, the large screen coming to life so she could navigate to where she’d left off on yesterday’s illustration. She was working on the myth of The Peninsula, an area reportedly untouched by science, where humans had reverted to their primitive state, living in socialized, codependent pairings.

 

A shadow streaking down across her station caught her attention, as well as the others’ in the room. They turned, gathering at the window that stretched the height and width of the room to overlook the meditation gardens.

 

“It’s been awhile since we had a jumper,” someone said.

 

Chloe saw the man who had jumped; his head had struck a concrete bench. It had been quick. It was messy. Her colleagues looked on with curiosity.

 

“He had the bug,” someone said.

 

“They say it isn’t contagious, but numbers are growing.”

 

“Hopefully they find someone to do his work soon.”

 

Chloe glanced down the line of conversation to see Beca on the other end. Her fist was squeezed tight. Her mouth slightly open. Eyes flickering unsteadily as she looked over the scene in front of them. And then she returned to her workstation to resume her narration, as did everyone else. But for some reason, Chloe wanted to keep looking at her.

 

* * *

 

Chloe followed the pathway back to her living quarters at 5L, with the rest of the community’s population. A disturbance broke the silence, and she saw the source of it a moment later. Two Health and Safety Officers in their black and white vests had a man in custody, a blanket over his shoulders, essentially dragging him down the path as he hollered protests. Another pair of Officers followed, a woman screaming hysterically, also wearing what appeared to be nothing but a blanket, being dragged as she kicked. Chloe stepped aside to watch them pass and then returned to her living pod. Dinner had been delivered and she activated her dining station. She ate. She disposed of her dishes. She accessed the education system and worked on completing her two thousand and forty-seventh three-dimensional geometric puzzle. At 11:00pm, she retired for the evening.

 

* * *

 

Chloe woke in her living quarters promptly at 7:00am. She ate. While she ate she listened to the morning announcements detailing the recent outbreak of S.O.S. and the continued research for a cure following the disturbance yesterday evening of the two individuals caught coupling, who had since been transported to The DENShe showered and dressed and reported to work.

 

“Good morning, Beca.”

 

“Good morning, Chloe.”

 

“Excuse me, Beca?” she asked, returning to Beca’s workstation. “I would like to ask your feedback on my current work, so I may make any necessary adjustments and continue my progress.”

 

“Of course,” Beca answered, moving aside to allow Chloe to access her illustration on Beca’s workstation. “I see you’re working on The Peninsula. It appears consistent with my research. I see you have reflected both heterosexual and homosexual couplings. I believe that to be an accurate representation of their society.”

 

“Thank you,” Chloe said with nod and closed her work to return to her station and continue detailing the illustration.

 

At lunch, the staff gathered in the dining area, choosing their meal from the vending area and taking an individual seat along a bench, far from one another but near enough to have a conversation if necessary.

 

“Ashley received her conception summons,” her fellow Illustrator Jessica stated as she ate. “She should return to work in approximately forty-one weeks.”

 

Chloe listened while she ate. Conception summonses were the source of the population. Fertile, clean women of a certain age were chosen at random to be artificially inseminated and produce offspring.

 

She slowed her eating, noticing Beca not really paying attention to the conversation. Instead, she had overturned her glass to capture a bumblebee that had landed on her tray.

 

“Be careful, they sting,” Jessica said once she noticed as well.

 

“According to the laws of physics,” Beca said, watching the bee crawl along the side of the glass, “bumblebees shouldn’t be able to fly. But they don’t listen. They fly anyway.” She lifted her glass and tilted it to allow it to fly free.

 

Chloe swallowed and went back to her lunch.

 

* * *

 

That afternoon, she found herself struggling to focus on her work, her attention repeatedly dragged two rows ahead of her to watch Beca working, speaking quietly as she narrated her latest research related to the continued exploration of the universe.

 

Once home, she ate dinner and went to bed.

 

She was plagued by visions, hallucinations. The man falling to his death. The way Beca had looked at the gruesome scene. How Beca’s voice sounded when she said, “Good morning, Chloe,” every day. What it would be like for her fingertips to graze Beca’s.

 

Chloe woke with a gasp, disoriented, needing to flee and she fell out of bed, running, not quite realizing she was awake and ran straight into the wall, hitting her head. She truly woke up then, at the pain. Her heart was pounding. She was confused, not knowing what had just happened.

 

* * *

 

Chloe sat in the medical center waiting room. Another woman took the seat next to her. “Do you have the bug?” the woman asked.

 

“No. I hit my head,” she answered, pointing at the bruise that had formed. “Better safe than sorry.”

 

“Oh. I do,” the woman responded. “But it’s not contagious.”

 

“That is what they say,” Chloe stated.

 

“I’m Stacie,” she said. “Stage Three.”

 

“How long have you had it?”

 

“One year and two months.”

 

“What’s it like?” she asked.

 

“Unpleasant. Sometimes I wish I was dead.”

 

Chloe’s identification number was announced and she stood. “I must go. Goodbye, Stacie.”

 

* * *

 

“You had what is referred to as a nightmare,” the doctor said, once Chloe had described the hallucination she experienced. “I’m going to do a quick blood test,” he continued, pulling a small pen-like device from his pocket.

 

Chloe held out her arm and he pressed it against her wrist. It pinched for a moment and she watched the indicator lights on the device change.

 

“You’ve tested positive for S.O.S.” the doctor said, returning to his seat at a desk. “Stage One. I’m going to prescribe you with inhibitors. Taken regularly, you will be able to lead a normal, productive life for one to three years before death.”

 

Chloe nodded. She knew the disease was spreading. She understood its symptoms and what it eventually caused. Nobody wanted the bug, but having it was a fact.

 

She stopped at the dispensary on her way to 5L, scanning her wrist to pick up her inhibitors. She was also prescribed sunglasses to help with the light sensitivity that would come.

 

In her living quarters, she stared at the glass bottle of white tablets. Her display screen instructed her to take one pill every day to slow the progression of the disease. She found herself hesitating, unsure. Thinking. Thinking about her nightmare. She reached for the bottle and then set it down, choosing to go to sleep instead.

 

* * *

 

She found herself watching Beca again. It was hard not to. Something...inexplicable drew her attention toward the woman. She found herself continually searching for reasons to speak to her. She made intentional errors in her interpretations of Beca’s narrations, and Beca would carefully correct her. She purposely stood nearer to her in the vending line than others, and sometimes Beca would choose a seat near her. She followed her after work, wanting to be close to her, not wanting to lose sight of her, but she did not follow too closely. She did not want Beca to know, or notice, her change in behavior. She couldn’t know she had the bug.

 

She followed Beca along the elevated bridge one evening after work. She kept her distance, and there were not many others around. She lost sight of Beca around a curve and when Chloe got to that curve, she was startled by a voice behind her.

 

“This needs to stop.”

 

She turned, heart jumping a little to see Beca standing there, waiting for her. “What do you mean?” she asked.

 

“I know what you’re doing.”

 

“I’ve been watching you. The way you experience things. It’s different.”

 

“If it continues, I’ll be forced to report you.”

 

Chloe bit her lip, staring at Beca. Her hand was fisted again, like that day with the jumper. “You have the bug,” Chloe said, realizing.

 

“I’m clean,” Beca stated.

 

“If you were, you would have reported me already.”

 

 _“I’m clean,”_ she repeated. “But you aren’t.”

 

Chloe looked down. She felt what she determined was _ashamed:_ _embarrassed or guilty because of one's actions, characteristics, or associations._ “I was diagnosed this week. Stage One.”

 

“Keep your distance,” Beca said firmly, “or I will report you.” She left, and Chloe did not follow.

 

* * *

 

Every morning, Chloe’s display reminded her to take her inhibitor as it detailed the progression of the symptoms of S.O.S. And every morning, Chloe made the conscious decision to not take her inhibitor, until the morning she inverted the bottle over the sink, emptying its contents down the drain, so she would no longer have to decide.

 

She felt. She was feeling things. Things she knew by definition were emotions.

 

_Excitement: a feeling of great enthusiasm and eagerness._

 

_Carelessness: failure to give sufficient attention to avoiding harm or errors; negligence._

 

_Attraction: the action or power of evoking interest, pleasure, or liking for someone or something._

 

She reported to work earlier than she used to, excited to see Beca. “Good morning, Beca,” she would say with a nod as she passed her workstation.

  
“Good morning, Chloe,” Beca would answer, and Chloe would notice Beca track her journey a little further each morning until Beca had her back to her own workstation to look at Chloe standing at her own. And then she turned and resumed narrating.

 

 _Attraction._ Chloe could feel it. She couldn’t stop looking at Beca. Her work was slipping, taking longer to complete her scenes. But she couldn’t help it. Beca was in her line of sight and it was too easy to lift her eyes from her screen to watch Beca swaying absentmindedly while she spoke.

 

It was at the end of the work day, two weeks after Chloe’s diagnosis, that she and Beca were the last two working, as Chloe had put them behind schedule. They were silent, Beca no longer narrating at her station, but rather, apparently staring at its display until she appeared to take a sharp breath and shut down her system, replacing the stylus in its cradle and striding out of the room.

 

Chloe saved her work and shut down her workstation, following quickly. Beca was gone, once she opened the door to the hall, but she heard the door to the restroom close, so she entered.

 

It appeared empty, the door to each stall closed. She walked slowly, quietly, listening. At the third stall, she saw movement, a shadow under the floor-to-ceiling door. She pulled and found Beca, her hands pressed to the wall, head down, as though she was trying to push the wall down. She didn’t look up at Chloe’s entrance, and Chloe closed the door behind her, sealing them in the small room illuminated by aquamarine lighting.

 

Beca eventually looked up and turned to lean against the wall, staring at Chloe.

 

“I see you,” Chloe said, breaking the silence. “How things...affect you.” She looked at every inch of Beca. The way a war waged in her eyes. The way her fists clenched and unclenched. The way her lips twitched, how her chest rose and fell with her elevated breathing rate. Her own heart rate was elevated. Palms clammy. She recognized them as S.O.S. symptoms. It was progressing, getting worse. Her hands shook. She ached. She felt physical pain from the desire to touch Beca. She lifted her hand, unsteady, reaching toward her.

 

Beca looked afraid, pressing herself into the wall as her own hand lifted, fingers extending and then curling, shaking as Chloe’s neared. And then -

 

And then Chloe’s fingertips touched Beca’s and they both inhaled. Their hands moved, pulling apart, rejoining until their fingers intertwined and closed around the other's. Chloe had never felt so alive. Her body was tingling from head to toe.

 

“I can’t,” Beca said suddenly and dropped her hand to walk hurriedly out of the stall, leaving Chloe alone, her heart pounding.

 

* * *

 

It happened again the next evening. Beca shut down her workstation and exited, Chloe following a safe few seconds later, finding her in the same stall, this time leaning against the wall, looking less tormented but as unsure as she had yesterday.

 

They stared at one another, Chloe taking in her features, the way the aquamarine lighting lightened her dark blue eyes, how it accentuated the angle of her jaw set firmly as she stared back at Chloe, eyes flitting about her face.

 

“Do you realize what would happen if anyone saw us?” Beca asked. “It can’t happen. You know that.”

 

But Beca took a step. And another step. Until she was right in front of Chloe, looking up at her. She was trembling. Nervous? Scared? Excited? It was adrenaline, which could be released into the nervous system for a multitude of reasons. Beca’s hands lifted, hovering near Chloe’s waist. She was shaking her head, slow, like she was having a long debate with herself and she was losing.

 

Chloe moved her hands, wanting to touch. She wanted to embrace Beca, pull her close, feel her against her body. She was trembling, too. Beca looking up at her, fear in her eyes. Uncertainty.

 

With a breath Beca leaned forward, letting her forehead rest against Chloe’s shoulder, hands barely touching her waist.

 

Chloe gasped, feeling her body come alive. She reached for Beca and pulled her close, hearing a noise escape the other girl as she gathered her in her arms in an embrace. Hands pushed and pulled at Chloe’s waist as though Beca didn’t know what to do, how to react.

 

Beca lifted her head after a moment but didn’t meet Chloe’s eyes. Instead, they were on her mouth, and Chloe felt her heart throb in her chest. She didn’t understand what it was, why she wanted to put her mouth on Beca’s, why she was so drawn to it. Why Beca seemed to be drawn to hers. Beca was still visibly struggling, head bobbing, swaying as she drew closer and closer to Chloe until something in Chloe’s gut drove her to lean down and touch her lips to Beca’s.

 

It felt like being struck by electricity. Her hands clutched at Beca’s shirt, pulling at her as she pressed their mouths more firmly together. She knew what it was, by definition. A kiss.

 

_Kiss: a touch with the lips as a sign of love, sexual desire, reverence, or greeting._

 

She felt arms around her waist, pulling, tugging, as the kiss intensified. Chloe was overwhelmed with need, the desire to consume this woman in any way possible, to become one with her.

 

She finally forced herself away when it felt like her heart was going to give out, and they stared at one another, both breathless. Chloe felt the corners of her mouth twitch, as did Beca’s. A smile; she recognized it from research she had illustrated in the past.

 

_Smile: a pleased, kind, or amused facial expression, typically with the corners of the mouth turned up and the front teeth exposed._

 

Beca pressed herself to the wall behind her and slid down to sit on the floor, her knees tucked up to her chest. Chloe did the same, and they looked at one another across the small room. Smiling.

 

“You have the bug,” Chloe said matter-of-factly.

 

Beca nodded.

 

“How long?”

 

“Two years, four months.”

 

“What Stage?”

 

“Stage Four. I’ve never been diagnosed. But I know I have it.”

 

“You don’t act like it. Well...out there,” Chloe added, gesturing to indicate outside their bubble of privacy.

 

“I’ve been hiding it. It’s not without a struggle. I don’t want to go to The DEN. I’d rather live freely and fight it than go there.”

 

“They know I have it. I’m going to have to go eventually.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Beca said, looking at her hands. Then she inched one of her feet out until it was between Chloe’s, and she shuffled hers closer to frame it.

 

“Then let’s talk about something else,” she said with a smile. It felt good to smile. She’d never smiled in her twenty-four years.

 

Beca smiled, too, nodding as she started talking, laughing about their coworkers. Beca had so many stories, so many thoughts, feelings about things that Chloe had only witnessed through her previous self. She had experienced life like a scientist, observing, analyzing. Never feeling.

 

A whole new world was opening up to her; every day she felt something new - usually a form of happiness. Always anticipation in the morning as she hurried to work to see Beca. They had to maintain discretion in public, but every time they passed one another, Chloe could feel it, attraction like a magnet, their hands almost touching when passing in such close proximity.

 

They grew careless. One evening, Beca seemed particularly twitchy, and she left the work room, failing to shut down her workstation. Chloe followed hurriedly to find her in their safe space, only to find herself pulled into it by her shirt collar and immediately into a kiss, Beca pressing fully against her, hands roaming.

 

Chloe tried to be quiet, but the excitement and pleasure made it difficult. She tried to distract herself from it by putting her hands on Beca, running them down her back, over her hips, up her stomach to stop just below her breasts.

 

 _Breasts:_ _either of the two soft, protruding organs on the upper front of a woman's body that secrete milk after pregnancy._

 

They were organs designed for human reproduction, to sustain life. But her brain turned them into something more, something sexual, and she didn’t understand why. The thought of touching them made her throb.

 

The quiet latching of the exterior bathroom door tore them apart from one another; they weren’t alone. They listened, staring at one another in fear as they heard the person use the restroom and exit the stall to wash their hands, leaving the room altogether a moment later.

 

Chloe exited first. It was too close; they were nearly caught coupling. They would have been sent to The DEN without question.

 

When she stepped into the hallway, she was stopped by her boss, Aubrey.

 

“Chloe, you’re working late.”

 

“Yes. Beca has been particularly swift with her narratives recently and I do not want to fall behind.”

 

Aubrey looked over her shoulder, back into their workroom. “Why is Beca’s workstation on?”

 

Chloe looked, noticing Beca’s was the only illuminated station. It implied Beca was present when Chloe had just admitted to also being present.

 

“I was told to keep an eye on you,” Aubrey continued. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

 

So Aubrey knew. She knew Chloe had the bug.

 

“If I was in a situation,” Aubrey continued, “I would make certain to separate myself from the issue. For the betterment of society and my own well-being. Does that make sense?”

 

Aubrey looked at her with a firm eye. Chloe understood. She knew that Aubrey not only knew she had S.O.S. but that Beca did as well. And that they were being risky.

 

“I understand,” Chloe said, turning to leave.

 

* * *

 

She waited for Beca on the bridge, where they sat on separate benches, far enough to not raise suspicion, though they seemed to be alone.

 

“She knows,” Chloe said, gripping the edge of her bench nervously.

 

“What do we do?” Beca asked, staring straight ahead.

 

“We have to stop it.” Chloe felt pain in her chest upon uttering the words. “I can’t continue to be around you. I’m going to seek new employment. Away from you.”

 

“We can be more careful.”

 

Chloe felt the pain grow at Beca’s words. She didn’t want Chloe to leave her. “We will get caught if I don’t. I can’t...I can’t continue to be around you.” She stood and left before Beca could say something that would change her mind.

 

* * *

 

“You understand how coveted positions with ATMOS are,” the employment director said to Chloe.

 

“I do. However, given my diagnosis, I believe it best that I seek employment away from others, where I can contribute to society while not being a detriment to it.”

 

“That’s a very responsible decision.”

 

Chloe was assigned to groundskeeping. She didn’t mind it. It was solitary work, planting greenery and trimming trees. It allowed her time to think, to analyze her emotions and how they only seemed to be increasing. She understood now, the progression of S.O.S. She had inklings as to why it was terminal. She was in pain. Every day, in pain, never seeing Beca. She woke up in the mornings unsure why she should get up and go to work. There didn’t seem to be a point to it any longer.

 

One evening, sitting alone as she looked out the window at the dark community below, she felt wetness on her face. She wasn’t in the shower, and it was confusing. She touched her hands to her cheeks to find the source being her eyes.

 

_Tears: a drop of clear salty liquid secreted from glands in a person's eye when they cry or when the eye is irritated._

 

_Cry: to shed tears, especially as an expression of distress or pain._

 

She was crying. Her body shook from it, and the tears wouldn’t stop. She kept her hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds that were coming from her, not wanting her neighbors to hear.

 

A knock on her door made her freeze. Someone had heard. Someone would report her for showing emotion. She did her best to calm herself and dried her face, moving to the door, ready to defend herself if necessary.

 

She opened it to find Beca on the other side, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She, too, appeared to have been crying. Chloe grabbed her and pulled her in before anyone could see and Beca’s arms were around her in an instant, pulling her to her, pressing Chloe against the wall. Her whole body was shaking as she looked up at Chloe, biting her lip, hands restless against Chloe’s shoulders and back and waist.

 

Chloe was shaking, too. Trembling with need, with relief of finally seeing Beca after what had been weeks. Her hands found Beca’s waist and pulled her closer. She didn’t hesitate, bringing their mouths together with such need that it made her knees weak, but Beca pushed her harder into the wall to keep her upright.

 

They kissed, and kissed, and hands pulled at clothing, Chloe’s hands shaking as she struggled to unbutton Beca’s shirt until it was off her. Hers was gone next and they slid to the floor, still kissing, hands still roaming. Chloe needed to touch Beca, to touch her everywhere. She reached to find the clasp on her bra and undid it, quickly pulling it away. She felt her own disappear, Beca’s hands on her breasts a moment later.

 

She moaned, immediately cutting it off, realizing someone could hear. But it felt so _good_ , so _pure_ and she covered Beca’s with her hands, amazed by their softness, how they seemed to fit her hands perfectly, how Beca’s back arched to push herself closer to Chloe’s touch.

 

Chloe leaned her back until they were on the cold white floor. Beca’s hands were everywhere, pulling and clawing as Chloe hurriedly removed Beca’s pants. She understood human anatomy, how vestigial organs designed for nothing more than pleasure remained long after the demise of what was once considered the natural method of reproduction. Never had she felt pleasure from such things; only recently did she notice, while washing herself while bathing, that she had sensation there. Something that did not exist prior to S.O.S. taking hold.

 

Now - now that area screamed for attention. Demanded it. She wanted to see if Beca felt the same way. She seemed to, the way she reacted to Chloe stripping her pants down her legs.

 

Chloe looked down at her; she thought...she thought Beca was beautiful.

 

Beca was looking back up at her, breathing hard, her arms above her head where they’d ended up when Chloe had laid her back. Chloe was kneeling between her legs, unsure what to do, only knowing that she _needed_ to do something. So she reached a hand out, touching the smooth skin along Beca’s thigh, from her knee and higher, higher until she was close to where she knew, or at least assumed, touching would make Beca feel good.

 

So she moved the last few inches to graze her fingers between her legs. It was wet, and Beca gasped immediately, her body tensing, hips lifting. Chloe watched in amazement as she did it again, more firmly this time, a whimper escaping Beca’s lips.

 

Her lips. Chloe needed her lips again.

 

She let herself fall forward over Beca, kissing her as she touched her, fingers pressing and exploring, responding to the way Beca reacted to her. Beca moved beneath her, what began as a slow grinding grew into a fast, desperate thrusting against Chloe’s hand until...until Beca’s entire body seemed to arch and then freeze, her breath rushing out of her a moment later in a loud sound that Chloe hurried to muffle with her mouth.

 

_Orgasm: a climax of sexual excitement, characterized by feelings of pleasure centered in the genitals._

 

Chloe felt a hand on hers, stopping her motions. She looked down at Beca, amazed at what had just happened. And Beca opened her eyes and looked up at her, smiling. A hand in her hair pulled her back down into a kiss and quickly found herself rolled onto her back, Beca above her, working to remove her pants just as Chloe had done for her.

 

Chloe could feel the throbbing; it was incessant, maddening between her legs, and then Beca’s hand was _there_ and it felt...it felt like nothing Chloe could have ever imagined or defined. It was pure pleasure, and it only increased by the minute until she felt like she needed to cry again until she felt like something in her was going to snap and euphoria flooded her.

 

When she opened her eyes, Beca was lying next to her, propped up on her elbow, still smiling.

 

Chloe returned the smile, utterly at a loss for words. Until she realized they were on the floor. “Come on,” she said, pushing herself to her feet to touch the SLEEP setting to put away her dining area and extend her bed. She knew it was wrong. All of it was wrong. If anyone found them, heard them, saw them, it was over. But she couldn’t think. Her brain was hazy. She was tired. So she climbed into her bed and felt Beca follow.

 

They showered together in the morning. Chloe never thought a shower could feel that way. But Beca made everything better. Made everything bright. Made her...happy.

 

_Happy: feeling or showing pleasure or contentment._

 

Chloe reported to work. It was a struggle not to smile all day. She was glad she worked alone, only having to hide her emotion when she passed a fellow groundskeeper.

 

Some days, Beca snuck into the gardens where Chloe worked so they could talk, maybe steal a kiss if they were sure no one was around.

 

She must have been forgetting to hide her smile one evening because a Health and Safety Officer stopped her. It was Stacie from the medical center. Chloe hadn’t known at the time she was an Officer.

 

“Hi, Chloe,” Stacie said, falling into step alongside her. “Take a walk with me.”

 

Chloe grew apprehensive. H&S Officers were the ones who dragged you off to The DEN. Stacie didn’t appear to have that agenda, however, so she followed.

 

“You’re not taking your inhibitors,” Stacie said once they were alone.

 

“I’m not required to,” Chloe said. It wasn’t illegal to have S.O.S., or even fail to treat it; only to act upon its symptoms.

 

“I don’t take mine either,” Stacie said with a smile. “Look, there’s a support group, for people like us. We get together and talk about what we’re feeling. I can vouch for you if you like. It helps, not having to hide it all the time.”

 

Chloe agreed. While she let her guard down a lot, she had no one to talk to about what she was going through, except Beca, and their time together was a lot of sneaking around and hushed encounters. “I would like that.”

 

“Good. I will leave something for you in your staff restroom on Tuesday.” With that, Stacie left.

 

* * *

 

On Tuesday, Chloe found a key card under the sink, with a note of instructions. She followed it, leading her through an underground passageway, the key card successfully unlocking two sets of doors until she found a handful of people sitting in a circle in a room. Stacie was there, and looked up, smiling in greeting.

 

“Hey guys, this is Chloe.”

 

The others in the room greeted her with smiles, some tentative, some warm. They introduced themselves - Emily - Stage Three, Donald - Stage Two, Cynthia-Rose - Stage 4, Bumper - Stage Two.

 

They were all H&S Officers, every one of them wearing the black and white vest.

 

Emily, Cynthia-Rose, and Donald were all extremely sympathetic, listening as Chloe recounted what she had been going through. How she felt about Beca, whom she did not name by name. Bumper seemed cautious, frequently shooting down messages of hope or support with negativity and potential consequences.

 

“She’s a hider,” Cynthia-Rose said once Chloe had told her about Beca. “So am I. It’s not easy, but it’s better than The DEN.”

 

Then tell me about The Peninsula,” Chloe asked. “Is it real?”

 

“My friend flew a mission over it,” Stacie said. “It’s there. Whether or not it’s inhabited, however…”

 

“I read that people with S.O.S. have escaped there.”

 

“My neighbor tried to,” Cynthia-Rose said. “I never really knew him. Saw him from time to time. I knew he had the bug. One day, he came to my room and told me goodbye, that he was going to The Peninsula. But no one ever made it there. Certainly, no one ever came back from it. I’ve never felt more alone than I did that day, knowing my friend, whom I’d only just met then, was dead.”

 

“But...you don’t _know_ he died. He could have made it. He could be alive right now.”

 

Cynthia-Rose only sighed and shook her head.

 

* * *

 

Beca spent the night with Chloe again. Chloe was starting to better categorize and identify her feelings.

 

_Lust: very strong sexual desire._

 

_Comfort: a state of physical ease and freedom from pain or constraint._

 

_Love: an intense feeling of deep affection._

 

* * *

 

_Fear: an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat._

 

The morning announcement by The Collective had dozens of people gathered in the quad, more gathering by the second. A cure for S.O.S. had been developed, vaccines were already in the clinics being administered. It was not mandatory, but for the good of society, highly encouraged. It was easy, relatively painless. An injection into the neck, leaving behind a small coin-shaped scar. Six hours of absorption time, and you would return to normal life.

 

* * *

 

Beca spent the night with her frequently. They would stay up all night talking, laughing. Sharing how they felt about the world, their opinions on things. Chloe told Beca about The Peninsula - not that Beca didn’t know about it; she knew far, far more about it than Chloe could ever hope to. However, she didn’t know that Stacie knew someone who had seen it. Someone who knew where it was.

 

“I want you to come somewhere with me,” Chloe said one morning before they went their separate ways. “Meet me in the garden at 7:00.”

 

* * *

 

Chloe took Beca’s hand as soon as they were through the door into the passageway, holding onto it firmly, leading her to the support group.

 

The group looked surprised to see Beca, and Chloe introduced her to them.

 

“We want to go to The Peninsula,” Chloe said, taking a seat. “Stacie, can you help get us there?”

 

“If I ask my friend...and if it’s traced back to him...he could be killed.”

 

“If it’s traced to your friend,” Bumper said, “it’s traced to you, and to this group. It puts us all at risk.”

 

“If you do this, there’s no turning back,” Cynthia-Rose said, ignoring him.

 

Stacie took a breath. “I will talk to my friend.”

 

* * *

 

Chloe met Stacie on the bridge some days later. They kept their distance, and Stacie spoke in a hushed voice. “They can fly you out on Thursday. Be at the border by 12pm.” She left before Chloe could respond, and Chloe had to cover her mouth to hide her smile from passersby.

 

* * *

 

“We leave Thursday,” Chloe said to Beca excitedly in her living quarters. “Stacie’s friend will fly us to the Peninsula. We can leave through the southern border, that’s the most direct route.”

 

“Chloe,” Beca said, her serious tone catching Chloe’s attention. “I received my conception summons this morning.”

 

Chloe felt her world tilt for a second. “What?”

 

“My conception summons,” she repeated. “They’ll do a blood test and find out I have the bug.”

 

“Well, that’s...no. Okay, you go, you respond to it. They’ll diagnose you, deem you unfit for insemination, and release you. It’s still not illegal to have S.O.S. and they can’t force you into treatment or The DEN unless you’re a danger to society. It’ll be fine.” Chloe wasn’t so sure it would be fine. “It’s only three more days.”

 

Beca didn’t seem convinced either.

 

* * *

 

Beca reported to the medical clinic, scanning in at the front desk. “I received a conception summons,” she said flatly to the receptionist before taking a seat.

 

In the exam room, she sat on a table, wearing a gown, letting the doctor check her vitals.

 

“I’m going to do a quick blood test,” the doctor explained, pulling out the pen-like device. Beca knew this was it, the moment she’d be caught with S.O.S. She held out her arm to let the doctor test her, and she waited while the device analyzed her blood.

 

“I have S.O.S.,” Beca said, deciding to get it over with.

 

“Yes, but...Beca...your levels of oxytocin are extremely elevated. You’ve been engaging in sexual intercourse with another person.”

 

Beca looked up, shocked that that could be detected with a blood test. “No, no, I’m not, that’s not…”

 

The doctor was already walking toward the communication device on the door, signaling Health and Safety; one of them was Emily, from the support group. They allowed Beca the dignity of putting her clothes back on, but then they were dragging her out of the clinic, through the community, down the giant passageway, straight to The DEN.

 

* * *

 

Chloe was worried when she didn’t see Beca that night, but she understood Beca might have some personal affairs to attend to before they fled for The Peninsula.

 

In the morning, the worry had turned to fear. Chloe went looking for Beca, checking all their usual places - the garden, the support group room, she even dared venture into Beca’s living quarters, finding it empty. Her panic grew. The last thing she knew Beca was doing was reporting for her conception summons. What if they had cured her? What if she had been inseminated and was in quarantine incubating a fetus?

 

She didn’t know where to go, where to look. She was frantic, pacing through the community, drawing attention to herself. Stacie finally stopped her in the garden, pulling her aside. “Beca’s been taken to The DEN,” she said quickly.

 

“What? No!” Chloe shrieked, turning to run there, but Stacie grabbed her.

 

“Cynthia-Rose is a doctor there. She’s the one who told me. She will take care of it. You need to calm down, stop making a scene, or they will send you there, too. We will get her out. Go home and wait for Beca.”

 

Chloe nodded, feeling dizzy like the ground was going to flip over and dump her on her head. She rushed home to wait.

 

Only she couldn’t just stay home and wait. She waited hours when Stacie had said it would only take two. She couldn’t stand by and just...wait. She left, rushing to The DEN.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Cynthia-Rose strode through the halls of The DEN until she found the room where Beca had been taken. She was put into quarantine, drugged and strapped down. The medical chart display indicated she was started on a course of inhibitors. Quickly Cynthia-Rose deactivated it and unstrapped Beca from the table, shaking her until she woke from her drug-induced sleep.

 

Emily showed up then, pushing a wheelchair.

 

“Come on, Beca, wake up. Wake up. You’re Amy now.”

 

“What?” Beca asked, disoriented.

 

“Amy arrived last night and put a bag over her head. Now she is you and you are Amy. Give me your wrist.” Cynthia-Rose grabbed Beca’s wrist and held a device over it, making Beca squirm in pain. “Now you’re Amy. It will get you through to the border.” She hustled Beca into the wheelchair and out of the room, heading for the exit as Emily disappeared. They stopped in a restroom along the way to get Beca changed out of her medical gown and back into her clothes, and by then, her tranquilizers had worn off and they walked, as casually as possible, out the exit of The DEN. Cynthia-Rose swiped the door to open it. “Chloe’s waiting for you in her living quarters. Now go!”

 

Beca took off running through the unkempt back fields of the community, avoiding the main traffic corridors in case anyone recognized her as needing to be in The DEN, rushing back to 5L to find Chloe.

 

Only when she burst in, Chloe wasn’t there. So she sat down to wait, nervous, worried.

 

* * *

 

“I’m looking for Member 100159,” Chloe said in a rush to the man working the security gate at The DEN. “She was brought yesterday afternoon.”

 

“100159?” The man repeated. “Beca?”

 

“Yes, that’s her,” she said, relieved at least to know she was really there and not...nowhere. She grabbed onto the rails of the gate.

 

“Says she was brought in yesterday. Stage Four S.O.S. She committed suicide at 4:08pm.”

 

Chloe felt sick. “No. No, that can’t be right. Check it again. 100159.”

 

He typed again and shook his head. “That’s her.”

 

Chloe...Chloe wanted to die. Now she knew. She knew why this was terminal. Her world was spinning. She tried to walk and stumbled.

 

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

 

She held out her hand, trying to block him, that voice telling him Beca was dead, out of her head, out of her life. She stumbled into a run, not knowing where to go. She needed to _go_ , go somewhere. Anywhere.

 

End it.

 

She ran. In the quad, she saw a message from The Collective. An alert that three H&S Officers had been detained for erratic behavior. Emily, Cynthia-Rose, and Stacie’s pictures flashed on the screen. It was announced that anyone diagnosed with S.O.S. would be required to receive the vaccine. Everyone would be tested.

 

She ran to ATMOS. Climbed the stairs to the roof.

 

Stepped onto the edge of it, over the garden she had cared for in recent weeks.

 

She could see the concrete bench at the bottom. The same one she’d seen another man’s brains spilled upon.

 

Why bother?

 

Why live?

 

The pain was too much.

 

She closed her eyes and felt her toes bend over the edge.

 

She started to lean.

 

_No._

 

She took a step back.

 

There was another way to end it.

 

* * *

 

Beca paced in Chloe’s apartment. It was dark. They were supposed to leave in the morning for The Peninsula. Chloe was supposed to be there.

 

She collapsed against the wall.

 

She must have fallen asleep because the door opening startled her. She shot to her feet to see Chloe shuffle in, looking delirious, destroyed.

 

“Chloe!” she said, rushing to her. “Where have you been? I’ve been here for hours.”

 

Chloe looked at her like she was a ghost. Shocked. Stunned. Her face immediately crumpled, sobs wracking her body as she shook her head.

 

Beca reached for her, holding her face in her hands, needing to touch her, feel her. “What’s wrong? Chloe, what’s wrong?”

 

Her fingers brushed something on the side of Chloe’s neck. She turned her head and looked, seeing a small round adhesive bandage pressed to her skin.

 

“No! No, no, no, no, Chloe, why? Why?”

 

“I thought you were dead,” she said through a sob, clinging to Beca to prevent herself from falling to the ground. “I needed the pain to go away. They said you were dead!”

 

“I’m not, I’m not, I’m here,” Beca rushed, holding Chloe’s face, trying to look at her, to memorize the emotions, despite them being the worst possible emotions. “How long do you have?”

 

“Five hours?” she said with a gasp.

 

Beca grabbed her hands and pulled her over into the bed, curling up with her, face to face, clinging to each other. “Fight it, Chloe. Fight it. I know you can fight it.”

 

Chloe took a gasping breath, trying to nod but instead she shook her head. “I’m going to forget. I’m going to forget what it feels like. But I’m going to remember that it happened and I don’t know if that’s worse. I should have just died.”

 

“No, don’t forget. You won’t forget, you hear me? I love you. _I love you_.”

 

“I love you, too,” Chloe said through another sob. “I’m going to forget what it feels like.”

 

“You’ll remember. You remember how this feels,” Beca said, grasping Chloe’s hand to squeeze with all her might. “You feel this?”

 

Chloe nodded.

 

“Remember it. Remember how it feels.”

 

Beca cried. She cried until she fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

When she woke, Chloe was no longer in bed. She saw her, showered and dressed, looking stoically out the window.

 

“Chloe?” she said, afraid, clinging to the edge of the bed.

 

Chloe turned, looking upon Beca with naught more than she did upon their first meeting Beca’s first day at ATMOS. “Good morning, Beca.”

 

Beca felt pressure in her chest like an anvil was on it. “Do you still love me?”

 

Chloe took in the question. Seemed to think about it. “I remember I loved you. But I don't feel it anymore.” Chloe looked at her like she was a stranger.

 

A sob escaped Beca and she covered her mouth. “Are we still going to go to The Peninsula?”

 

Chloe regarded the question again and then nodded. “We made a plan.”

 

* * *

 

Beca followed Chloe out of the community to the train, where they sat several rows apart. She watched the grassy, empty fields pass by as they traveled to the border. Away from the only life she ever knew.

 

She looked up when Chloe sat down next to her, face still as blank as it had been this morning. However, Chloe reached for Beca’s hand and took it up in hers.

 

And squeezed.


End file.
